Wayward Secrets: The Raven Brothers of Fallen Mountain

by KT Strange

  Wayward Secrets

  KT Strange

  Copyright © 2020 by KT Strange

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by CJ Strange.

  Heartcandies Publishing

  Heartcandies.com

  For Victoria.

  I wish you many werewolves.

  Contents

  Stay in touch!

  1. Cordelia

  2. Cordelia

  3. Grady

  4. Cordelia

  5. Cordelia

  6. Cordelia

  7. Cordelia

  8. Grady

  9. Cordelia

  10. Cordelia

  11. Cordelia

  12. Cordelia

  13. Cordelia

  14. Cordelia

  15. Cordelia

  16. Cordelia

  17. Cordelia

  Acknowledgments

  Stay in touch!

  About the Author

  Stay in touch!

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  1

  Cordelia

  Chapter 1: Cordelia

  "This is it. Hey, lady. We're here."

  I'd fallen asleep. My legs ache, and my mouth tastes like something evil died in the back of my throat. The soft tic-tic-tic of the turn signal smoothes out in the background just over the hum of the car's engine. I lift my foggy head to look through the window. It's taken way longer to get from the train station to Fallen Mountain than I anticipated, and what I see stops me short, my mouth hanging open. I should be seeing the friendly, open main street of the little town, population three thousand (in winter. It's about five times that in the summer). Quaint, dusty little shops and cafes should be lined with an old-fashioned wooden boardwalk lovingly maintained by the Fallen Mountain Historical Society, sandwiching together a cobble-stone road that throws up echoes of tires rolling over it.

  Except I see pretty much nothing. Well, a stop sign, the dusky line of trees that break on my right around a paved road that recedes into the distance to smudge out only half a mile under the shadows. I don't even see the mountains, but that might be because the pine trees have crowded the sky above us.

  I lean forward in my seat, the old plastic creaking under me, and frown at my driver.

  "This isn't-" He cuts me off from saying anything more with a wave of his hand.

  "That's a one-way road," he says, pointing his finger. I try not to notice how there's dirt under the nail of his index finger, crusted and caked.

  It's dark, like blood. I reflexively swallow, which triggers a tremor in my chest, a cough that wants to explode outward.

  "I paid you three hundred bucks to get me here," I say, "but you need to actually get me into town. Not… wherever this is."

  "Oh," he says with a shrug. "It's not a bad walk, I've heard anyway." He turns his head away to stare forward, his lips parting in a slow smile. Beyond us, an on-ramp, to take him back onto the highway and back toward Twocities. My backpack is leaning against my legs, stuffed full and heavy. I have a pull suitcase in the trunk of the car, and even though it has sturdy, dedicated little wheels, it's not up for walking along the side of a two-lane rural road. I squint down to the right. There's a signpost, just past the stop sign, the green-painted metal of it faded, with white lettering that glints Fallen Mountain - 10m. And it's not a one-way road. I don't know what he's talking about.

  "I can't walk ten miles," I say because my own body's dislike of anything more than a gentle amble for a few blocks is one thing… ten miles for me is at least a three hour trip on foot. It's already closing in on dusk. The sun is setting in the far west, and while I'm pretty sure it's a straight shot down the highway, Fallen Mountain is surrounded by just that… mountains. The trek will get hilly. It'll be hard for me to drag my suitcase up and down the rise and fall of the road. "I paid you-"

  My driver twists in his seat and smirks at me. His gaze is like hot oil, sliding over my face and down my neck. I press back against the seat as discreetly as possible.

  "Well, there are other ways you'd convince me to take you down there," he says, shooting a hot look that puddles in my lap. My chest caves in, and I reach for the door handle.

  "Pop the trunk," I snap, "I'm good." His eyes flick back to my face, and he curls his upper lip. His yellowed front teeth are split by a wedge of hardened calculus. I can't get out of the car fast enough. It's chilly out, far away from the warmth of Twocities weather pattern, the woods, and mountains beyond soaking the heat right out of the air.

  I struggle with the weight of my backpack, the strap yanking my shoulder down as I fight between getting upright and taking it with me.

  At least he's good on his word. The trunk clicks open, and I drag my suitcase out, slamming it down harder than necessary.

  "Bitch," I hear him mutter over the low growl of the engine. My heart shudders in my chest. I've met so many men like him. The guys who try to take a woman in a tough spot and have her give them... everything. It sickens me.

  "Thanks," I say as I swing his backdoor shut, trying to stay moderately polite because we're in the middle of nowhere. I'm defenseless if he changes his mind and decides to take what he was asking for.

  Stepping away from his car, I take a shuddering, deep breath in. His brake lights flicker, and for a second, my heart squeezes as his eyes meet mine through the rearview.

  He wants to stay.

  He wants to take.

  I can feel it. I step back again, into the thick grasses at the edge of the road, the cement crumbling into gravel under my feet. His brake lights flash again, then stay on. I start walking. There is no other choice. One foot ahead of the other. Put as much distance between him and me as possible. If I go missing, if something happens, there's no-one back home to look for me. Everyone who knew me I've carved out of my life.

  I hear the car slide into park, and the car door cracks open. My lungs feel like they're on fire as I pick up speed, turning the corner toward the road to Fallen Mountain. My suitcase bumps along behind me, dragging across the cracked pavement. This road hasn't been touched by patching crews, not for a long time anyway, and it doesn't look like anyone's been by the cut the grass on the shoulder.

  If I have to, I can run into the grasses and the woods beyond it. There are thick brambles, and maybe, maybe he won't follow me in there. The sound of his footsteps behind me reach toward me like shadowy fingers, and my spine ices over.

  "Hey," he snarls, and I turn, whipping around to look at him. My hair catches in my mouth, and I spit it out, sweat collecting under my arms and in the crook of my elbows. He's about to say something, and I want to open my mouth up to scream at him to get away from me, anything, maybe for help.

  The low rumble of a truck i
nterrupts us both, and his face flashes pale. Our heads twist at the same time to see a beat-up truck straight out of the '80s, it's build boxy, with blue paint scraped along the sides, coming down the off-ramp from the highway. It slows, signaling it's turning down the road toward me.

  Relief flutters in my chest as my driver scoots back, shuffling over the gravel. The truck pauses at the stop-sign longer than it needs to, considering there's no traffic, and I see a man about my age, maybe a bit older, looking at the two of us. His lips part like he's muttering under his breath or talking to someone on the phone. His truck turns, time going slow and soupy, and he pulls up next to me, the engine idling noisily. He reaches over, his shoulder pumping as he winds the window down.

  "Hey," he says casually like this isn't an awkward tableau, and I'm not out of breath from just a few yards of walking. He jerks his head back at my driver. "That your… dad?" His eyes narrow.

  "No," I say, "I'm coming in from Twocities, and my ride apparently ends at the beginning of this road." The driver's eyes are on me, hot and searing like he wants to burn me alive where I stand.

  Truck Guy's eyebrows arch up, pulling together in surprise.

  "Twocities? That's far. Well…"

  "He says it's a one-way road," I cut in, gesturing toward my driver, because I'm desperate for help. I can't do the walk on my own. And I can't do it if that freaky man keeps following me.

  Guy, I've decided to just call him Guy, laughs under his breath.

  "Yeah something like that, it's one way for some people anyway. You heading down it then?"

  "If I can help it."

  Guy's expression goes guarded, and he turns in his seat, throwing his truck into park before his door swings open. Movement flickers to my left, and I see the driver sidle back toward his car like a bug skittering under a baseboard. My heart starts sinking from my throat, settling back into my chest, beneath my breastbone.

  "Fallen Mountain?" Guy asks me as he comes around the truck. He's… tall. I gulp down a breath of air I can't afford to waste as I look upward, way up. He's tall, and broad, blond, with an easy smile on his face like he rescues women on the side of the highway from nefarious cab drivers all the time.

  "Yeah, I'm hoping," I say just as he grabs my suitcase out of my hand and lifts it like it weighs nothing. He puts it down gently in the bed of his truck before he offers me his hand. I hesitate.

  "Can your backpack go in the back?"

  I shouldn't be hitching a ride with him. He's got white, perfect teeth, and a summer tan that's fading at the edges with the whisper of Fall right around the corner. He's probably a serial killer. That thought makes me laugh internally, because really, what do I have to lose at this point in my life? If he's going to kill me, at least he's handsome. I'll be something pretty to look at while I die.

  "Yeah," I reply impulsively. A car door slams petulantly, and we both glance over. The driver is leaving, glaring at me as he rolls out from the stop-sign and up towards the on-ramp.

  "You okay?" Guy asks, gazing down at me, lowering his shoulders in a way that makes him seem less imposing, more friendly. He's already friendly, so it's… yeah, it's nice.

  "I'm fine," I say, trying to seem sturdy and not at all ruffled by what almost just happened. I pass him my backpack, and it joins my suitcase. He glances from me to the truck.

  "You need a hand up? There's no running board."

  "I'll manage," I say primly, full of false confidence. If he is a serial killer, I want him to know I've got fight in me.

  It's a total lie, but I want him to think it anyway. He grins at me, like he knows I'm not being totally honest. I'm way shorter than him, anyway, but whatever, I'll do my best. He shakes his head and goes around the truck, and I take my chance to get up and into it before he can see how badly I'm going to struggle. I've got the door open, and I'm reaching in to grab the other side of the seat to haul myself in when-

  "Got you," his voice is a low buzz in my ears, and a strong hand wraps around my bicep. He pulls me in like I weigh no more than a dripping wet kitten, and plops me into the seat. My eyes meet his. He's smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. His eyes are a weird color, not one I've seen before in person. Not blue, but a stormy gray, like clouds rolling up over a steely lake on a chilly day. They should be cold, but they're full of warmth and laughter. I sit upright and look away.

  "I had it," I say.

  "I'll just bet you did," he offers kindly. I get the door shut, my fingertips barely grazing the door handle. Guy puts the truck in gear, and it rolls forward. We're up so high that I have a good view down the side of the truck, into the brush. It's not a hot minute before it melts into taller scrubby bushes and then the first few trees.

  I glance forward just as the forest starts to swallow us, pines stabbing at the sky high above us. The cab is warm, and the scent inside of it enfolds me, of wood-smoke, and the strong herbal tang of lavender underneath it.

  "He seemed," Guy pauses and clears his throat, "nice." I laugh, because I know what he means.

  "Yeah, if you think creepy and also a total scumbag who took all my money and didn't tell me he couldn't actually drive me right to Fallen Mountain is nice," I reply, sneaking a look over at him. He's grinning at my words, eyes steady on the road.

  "Well, most normies don't like to come down this way," he says with a shrug of one shoulder like he's heard it before.

  "It's obviously not a one-way road if you've been out and back again," I point out.

  "Mmm, no, not for me, anyway. People just…" His gaze sweeps over to me for a moment, and I'm caught out by those eyes of his. They glint, like they're lit from within. He stares at me, and something… I feel it in me, a soft shudder right in the seat of my chest. It turns into more than a whisper, and I'm bringing my hand up to my mouth in a fist, coughing. Guy's eyes narrow in concern as a particularly large hack shakes my body, and I bent over my seatbelt.

  "You okay?" He's pulling back, alarmed, before he reaches for the glovebox and yanks out a packet of tissues. I shake my head.

  "I'm… fine," I say, the ache in my chest reminding me that it's been a long day of travel, and I need to have a nap probably, with my humidifier, if I can swing it. The information about where I'm going is in my backpack, but I'm still thinking about it, the anticipation glowing inside me as I sit back and recover from my cough attack.

  One small cabin, no separate bedroom, but has an eating area in the kitchen. Fully furnished, powered off the grid by the local waterfall. Enjoy the beauty of Fallen Mountain's lake just a short bike ride away, and the town's main-street is only a fifteen minute ride down a tree-lined road, again by bike. All we ask is that you spend a few hours, Monday through Friday, booking tours for our guides, answering the phone and taking payments from customers, and manning the outfitter shop.

  Rent free. Sorta. The girl I'd been in touch with is called Lacey, and I have her phone number tucked in with the rest of the paperwork on the cabin listing.

  "Do you know the Raven Brothers?" I ask suddenly and Guy's fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he takes a sharp turn on the road. We're heading deeper into the woods, the shadows growing longer. I swear I can see the sun setting just by how dark the sky is getting above us.

  "Yeah," he says, "what about them?"

  "I'm renting their cabin," I reply, watching the trees slip by us. It feels like reality is sliding with them, and each yard we drive the weight lifts off my shoulders.

  Goodbye Twocities.

  Goodbye.

  I've been saying goodbye for months now, and this is it. My final goodbyes will be in Fallen Mountain. The window is fogging up. No, no that's just my eyes watering. I blink the tears away.

  "Oh, huh," Guy says, clearing his throat like there's something really big stuck in there, "I didn't know they were renting it out."

  "Yeah, apparently they need someone to book tours for their guiding company, I guess? Oh, I should've said," I pause. "My name's Cordelia."


  "Grady," he replies quickly. Close enough to Guy, then. It's like I'm psychic. "So you come in from Twocities? You from there?"

  "Yeah, all my life." As much of it that I can remember anyway. Auntie C kept me safe for a long time, and I lived under the shelter of her broad arms in the big city.

  At least until the big city's smokestacks took her away from me.

  And then they threatened to take me too.

  "I've been a few times. Doesn't seem like my kinda place," he drawls, and stretches, pressing his hands flat against the steering wheel.

  "Thanks," I say, "for saving my ass back there."

  "Eh, that guy looked like he'd have toppled over as soon as you put your knee to his balls," Grady's voice is colored with laughter and I glance over at him, pulling my hair over my shoulder. I need a hair-tie, but they're all in my bag. My loose curls have frizzed in the humidity at the edge of the woods, and it tickles my neck.

  He's not looking at me, but he seems to know exactly what I'm thinking.

  "Here," he says, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. It's folded down and worn, the red-on-black paisley pattern fading. I murmur my thanks and tie my hair back, sighing in relief when I pull it off my neck. "You hot?" He asks.

  No, but you are, the totally inappropriate thought bubbles to the front of my mind. I smile and look outside. It's nice to feel… something. Something different from the usual, same-old same-old. It's been a long time since I looked at a guy this way. Grady's hot. No, not just hot. He's a warm stone you step on at the river's edge. He's all smooth edges and easy smiles, and killer eyes that sparkle with unsaid jokes while he rescues you at the side of the road. And he's nice. It's nice.